


Photograph

by Lizlow



Category: 7'Scarlet (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Psychedelica AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 08:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16807228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlow/pseuds/Lizlow
Summary: So lost in the flashing snapshots of chance that they get, through the bubbles of heavy prison, they gasp themselves back to solid ground. Without knowledge of where they are, who they are, they don’t know what else to do, but wander towards where there appears to warmth and light.Everything feels so fluid, where no ones knows who hid everything dear to them.Searches within themselves throw them back into the bad dreams of an unnavigable abyss, the darkness causing doubt to shatter their fragile hearts. The already delicate withdraw, withdraw until they are stripped of all but a shed of their humanity, becoming lost in the sea of desperation, begging, begging for mercy, taken away before they can fall, but given no chance to resolve the last tie.





	Photograph

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very rough Psychedelica AU! Okunezato’s “Psychedelica” will have them go with flower names! For anyone that’s played 7s, the circumstances surrounding Toa would… probably be similar to the game? Toa’s name in this ( Shion ) means remembrance. Ichiko’s ( Sakura ) suits her, in more ways than just the meaning – the original flower in the legend of In this case, are cherry blossoms (their meaning coincides with fleeting life), and they are flower-bearing trees. 
> 
> Side note, secret boy’s name is ( Asago ) [Morning Glory]. Morning Glories really suit him, without him being Sakura…
> 
> Oh also Hino’s ( Himawari ) and Isora’s ( Ajisai ) but they appear for like two seconds so w/e. 
> 
> The situation is closer to AH, but many of the events, especially in Toa’s case, can occur like in the original game – well, more of a true combination between secret route’s finale and true route? It made much more sense in my head, and this was very spur of the moment. In the end, just like in true route fashion, they’ll live happily ever after…?

_ In another life, I hope we’ll meet again… _

Eyes close, impact. There is no bliss, no chance for a verbal goodbye, but it feels like a part of them has died, and risen so that now, they are floating. _Floating_ yet falling at the same time. Descending, falling, within a waterfall, that steals their air, but leaves them there.

So lost in the flashing snapshots of chance that they get, through the bubbles of heavy prison, they gasp themselves back to solid ground. Without knowledge of where they are, who they are, they don’t know what else to do, but wander towards where there appears to warmth and light.

Everything feels so fluid, where no ones knows who hid everything dear to them.

Searches within themselves throw them back into the bad dreams of an unnavigable abyss, the darkness causing doubt to shatter their fragile hearts. The already delicate withdraw, withdraw until they are stripped of all but a shed of their humanity, becoming lost in the sea of desperation, begging, begging for mercy, taken away before they can fall, but given no chance to resolve the last tie.

Their sorrow is weighted, suffocating, and it drowns out the others, a chain reaction, _damning_ the others sick.

She doesn’t know when she got there, why she’s there, or… who she is. Something tells her that this feeling isn’t strange, but she doesn’t know why. Trying to pry open the answers that just… _have_ to be in her head pain her.

There are other _strong souls_ in this area, each of them with a story surrounding them that they can’t even tell. Perhaps time will spill truths through the cracks of the tightly sealed box, but there are no guarantees, when they don’t even know the ground in front of them.

The man nearest to her is familiar, his air friendly, and something tells her she can trust him, something tells her she knew him, and that he wouldn’t hurt her. Is it a voice in the back of her head? Or something riddled deep within her? She cannot answer.

Her instinct then, is to go to the front desk, cautiously. If this place… looks like a hotel, then she should ‘check in,’ right? Her fingers trace the letters on the sign-in list. The names look like scribbles. Only very top of the sheet has any useful answer – they can call this place _Okunezato_.

“Okunezato…” she repeats, and her heart creaks with nostalgia. But that feeling is pulled back and stuffed away, ever so quickly, and she snaps back to reality when she hears snapping.

“He-ey, are you alright? You were spacing out there.”

“O-Oh, sorry…”

The one that helped her, the one she’s identified already as someone she can trust, shakes his head, muttering something about how he just feels like she’s the kind of person to do that, before he hands her what looks to be a complimentary care package. “Looks like this has got our rooms.”

“You’re right..!”

She digs through it, seeing if she can find anything, anything at all, that can tell her who she is. Something, anything, she wishes so strongly to understand why, why she feels like she’s missing so, so much, why she _just doesn’t know_. Are the others here the same, really? Are they all lost spirits, who feel like they’re floating aimlessly, until they can yell their hearts to a clear, bright sky?

A photo of her - on an identification card – but once again any actual name appears to be unintelligible scratches. However, next to it, is the name of a flower, and that word is very clear. In a glance to the other, she concludes that his flower is different than hers.

The whispers of the others, the wink of a young man who’s beat isn’t missed, who holds out a tray with a meal as he comes out to the lobby, says that the flowers are what they’ve chosen to call each other, until they know more.

“Mmhmm, a pretty name, that rolls off the tongue!”

The chef introduces himself as _Ajisai_ – Hydrangea. The other young man in the room says that his flower is a sunflower – _Himawari_.

Blinking, she hears the shuffle of footsteps and a small crash. “C-Cats?” Another man, dressed traditionally, with purple hair and glasses that he fixes sloppily after she rushes to help him, reveals himself. The others chase the cats out, but they seem to stick by the door just outside. “E-Excuse me, but–”

“A-Ah, umm…Meowning…”

_A meow?_

“Haha… Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” he smiles, and Sakura finds herself captivated by it. It seems, however, that he’s hiding away within his heavy looking clothes. As if he’s trying to find his own warmth, as if he’s falling through his own mind.

So she reaches out and takes his hand, beaming at him. He finds it breathtaking, as if the breeze has rustled the soft, pink trees, and allows a welcoming snowfall of petals to surround him.

“That flower… Ah, you’re Shion-kun then?”

“Y-Yes!”

“It’s nice to meet you then, Shion-kun! You can call me Sakura.”

“Sakura-san…”

“Oh, you don’t have to be formal! I don’t think they will be… And I’ll just be calling you Shion-kun.”

“Got it, hand!”

“Huh?” She realizes then, that he’s red, and she’s holding his hand. “S-Sorry.”

Both embarrassed, for a moment, they feel grounded, as if a spark could possibly bring them back to security, to freedom.

There’s no answer, for soon they again feel like they are lost, under water, searching for a flicker of hope.

And Shion thinks of a field of pink and purple, where his lung can let this silly little embarrassing urge out. It’s a phantom of an itch, but through blur and fuzz, he pictures who could be her. He only really is certain from the shine of the eyes. Even that could be put to question here.

That one touch felt like life, fitting considering her name. Seeds are planted, echoing. That’s right.

Her flowers are cherry blossoms.

* * *

Sakura stares at the phone in her hands, walking absently. From a distance, it looks like she’s _a_ _reverant_ , her movements shaken, otherworldly, slow, as if she has risen to life but only just barely. It’s summer, but she doesn’t feel the heat. Is it even sunny, or is there fog everywhere? Some say one way, some, another.

“From… Asagao-san… Who…”

_ Why does it feel like I..? _

In the distance, she hears humming. It’s a tune that puts her at ease, as though it’s supposed to be for her, but the reason for that spins away from her, on a thread she cannot grasp. So she bids it goodbye, sadly, and chases the new one that arises.

Without knowing when, how, or if time had even passed at all, she finds herself on a lookout. She nearly steps over the cliff, in her absence, but she is saved by Shion, before he quickly moves back a little, and sits down.

“Thank you very much!”

“I-It’s not a problem, Sakura-chan! I didn’t… you would have… it was close…”

She nods, truly grateful. Despite not feeling here, nor there, she’s certain the final bell would have chimed, and she would have floated away, like a balloon, if Shion didn’t help her. _Whoops…_

So she, too, takes her seat on the outlook. The only light in the crescent moon-shaped town seems to be the hotel, and just one other house, a big one. It’s so distant that it’s all dizzying. Putting a hand to her forehead, she breathes in.

Thinking of the other texts she, and Shion, and Himawari, and Ajisai, and the others had among their other “belongings,” she just isn’t sure… She isn’t sure at all. Who is she? Is she even..?

_ To the members of the Okunezato Mystery Club: _

_ Among you, the flowers speak. _

_ The field is the answer you seek. _

But… _hers_ had a separate message.

_ And to the Ambrosia that thinks herself a dissonant weed. _

_ Your bloom is… _

An _unfinished_ one. What is she to make of it? And what is she to make of the image on her phone. Is it _even_ real? Her head hurts, so terribly, but nothing is coming back to her. Nothing at all. If they are supposed to be working to recover their memories, then why does hers keep slamming back down, and locking itself tighter?

This spot too… Visibility does not befriend them, but could this be the same spot as her realization? Is this town a replica, a prison, or a game of fate?

“H-Hey, Shion-kun?”

“N-Nyah?! W-What is it?”

Hesitance, maybe her thoughts go briefly to the fact that he ‘ _meowed’_ but it seems that she pushes it away, stepping towards him. She _has_ to show it to him; she can apologize for surprising him later, for speaking so suddenly.

Slowly, she holds up her phone. Her expression is riddled with confusion, her eyebrows furrowing as she nearly collapses into him. Of course her head would ache, if something is tugging so deeply at the treasure box of memories that’s been sealed shut by this odd town.

“Shion-kun, it’s…”

Carefully, the young man wraps one arm around her to support her, moving closer. He feels at ease when he’s near her, as though the little battery within him is recharged, bit-by-bit, by her presence alone.

Does this photo hold an explanation?

_Shion_ , as he’s been deemed here, examining her screen. Within the picture, troubling so, are… two children. One looks similar to himself, and the other, her. Surrounded by cats, holding matching marbles – ones of a beautiful blue. Her eyes there, seem to shine.

Suddenly, he gets a message, and he juggles his phone, nearly dropping it, but Sakura acts quickly, catching it and pulling back against her chest, clutching it, afraid to give it back, afraid to even look, as though there’s a truth and lie preparing to face her all at once. It’s just a hunch, but it twists and twists her stomach.

“Shion, I’m… not sure if I exist.”

“Eh?”

“I showed this to Himawari-kun too,” her breath is hitched, “And… he said my eyes looked red, and that I was…”

“Sakura-chan…”

“Everyone’s words on how I looked were… They were different.”

Shion closes his eyes and gently leans his head on her shoulder, squeezing her other shoulder carefully, but firmly. “I-If you’re here, you have to exist….”

“I-”

“W-Why else would I have– Ah, w-wait, that parts not important! A-Anyway, you’re you, and important to me!”

“Me?”

“A-Ah…” Oh, no, what he said was really embarrassing! It’s… true though. His memories have opened back up, just a little bit, and he remembers, just a little bit, of the day in the picture. It was one of the most important days of his childhood, so how could he forget? A girl, who wanted to hear him sing, didn’t find him weird at all. “I-If you don’t exist, then, I don’t think I do either.”

Reassured, and determined now to look, she hands Shion back his phone and he opens the message. The subject is blank, but the sender is the same as usual.

“Another from Asagao-san…”

Shion lifts his head so he can properly open the attachment. Being near her is giving him strength, certainty, just a bit of confidence.

The mail contains a video, opening with humming.

“It sounds similar to what you were just doing, Shion-kun..!”

This pull, this cling that he feels – it really is a claw, paw, call away from sickness, as if the world could not be abandoned until his _love_ reached the air. The boy in the picture, in the video too, it _has_ to be him. Poor, shy him…

“ _Oh! You’re singing?”_ The girl from Sakura’s picture comes on screen, with the sun in her smile, curiosity brimming and bouncing. She is unbound, soaring, without a worry.

_ “Huh? O-Oh, yes…” _

_ “You sound really good!” _

_ “R-Really..? You aren’t making fun of me?” _

_ “Ehhh? Why would I?” _

_ “B-Because the others say I’m weird…” _

_ “I don’t think so! I wanna hear you sing more…!” _

_ “My first audience…” _

Is this the same place? Have they just forgotten it? Sakura closes her eyes when the video concludes, and leans against Shion. She can’t say anymore, but her action is unconscious, a seek for comfort, for just a second more of confirmation.

With her there, Shion decides to search his pocket, and finds a marble, a brilliant blue.

A precious thing that he feels like he’s always adored.

He’s got a feeling that she has her’s in her pocket too. A promise, never to let it go, until the threads of fate tied themselves back together, and their worlds, caught in each other’s gravities, came back into the same orbit. Not everything is back, but he’s sure, he’s sure they existed together.

It’s probably because of her that he’s managed to get here. That may be just a hunch, born from sources that his memories are trying to piece back together. His heart aches, his head too. Fog and shadow, all surround. Is there wind here, shaking the trees, or is that movement that isn’t of a breeze? Nevermind, it’s okay. It’ll be fine. For there’s a light, that’s keeping them from drowning, surrounded by the guiding flowers, of pure hopes, that haven’t yet lost their way.

Even if there’s a feeling, a calling, a voice telling him that the way he – they – might leave this place isn’t the same as the arrival, and that the exit point might not be the same as the drop off, there’s are no more answers in the air.

He grabs the side of his clothes and pulls it in closer, becoming smaller. Nothing can get them right this second, so he allows himself a moment to think, hoping that he won’t drag her down, determined to help her back up.

_ Because I’m… **still** lovesick, when it comes to you. _


End file.
